


Painted the Impala blue.

by orphan_account



Category: Doctor Who, Sherlock (TV), Supernatural
Genre: AU, Crossover, Gen, Superwholock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-05
Updated: 2012-09-05
Packaged: 2017-11-13 15:41:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/505081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SuperWhoLock AU where all the roles are reversed. Sam and Dean are time travelers, The Doctor is the world's only consulting detective, and Sherlock and John are hunters. Each feel that something is wrong with the world but no one can quite put their finger on it. </p>
<p>When demons capture The Doctor's closest friend and companion - these three volatile forces team up and attempt to right the world and save a few lives in the process.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: First Clues

“Do you ever just feel like something is off?” Dean said closing the doors of the TARDIS behind him. Sam looked up from where he was fiddling with the various knobs in front of him. “I don’t know, isn’t that sort of our life? One giant series of missteps.”

Sam had heard the song and dance before from Dean and had already started tuning him out as he concentrated on the task at hand: getting them somewhere safe.

Dean pressed on as he took deliberate strides towards the center console and directly in Sam’s line of sight. “You know what I mean.” Another glance up confirmed that Dean was in fact ‘talking with his hands’ which meant he was agitated. Sam stifled and sigh and gave his brother his full attention.

Dean visibly swallowed, he hadn’t expect Sam to actually pay him any mind at all. He counted backward from five and thought about his next words carefully. When he couldn’t quite find the words he posed a question instead. “What do you remember of our childhood?”

Sam looked surprised by the question. “You mean on Gallifrey? You mean the war?” Sam scoffed. “Far more than I want to remember.” Sam’s attention was starting to wane again. Trips down memory lane were rarely pleasant for a time lord and their particular story was sadder than most.

“Yeah, but isn’t that just it. You can remember. Not like one of those memories you have to think about and search for. No. These? Like looking at a painting. Too nice and neat for me. It just feels off.” Dean paused and looked for understanding from his brother, Sam only gave him neutral eyes. With a dramatic sigh Dean pressed on.

“Everything is wrong. THIS is wrong Sammy.” Dean lowered his arms to his side and stood staring at his brother slack jawed. Silence stretched between them filled with the soft whir and clangs of the TARDIS as she carried them towards their new destination.

A ding from the controls in front of him pulled Sam’s attention back in time to see they were approaching their destination. The jarring stop and familar “Vromp” of their ride confirmed they had arrived. Sam’s lips turned up into a grin. “Dean. Look outside.” he gestured with his head towards the door. Dean glanced towards the door, his entire body radiating with irritation.

Sam watched his brother move stiffly across the expanse of the control room and pull open the door, he braced himself for that smile he knew would be coming next.

Time stretched into eternity as he waited, nothing. Dean disappeared through the open door but didn’t say a word. Confused, Sam moved towards the door himself to see what was the hold up. What he saw stopped him dead in his tracks. Beyond the door lay a gray lifeless expase of nothingness. Not death or destruction, or the peaceful village that should have been there, just nothing - nothing but grey.

“What the…” Sam trailed off and took the finally step out onto the planet.

Dean turned towards his brother with a sarcastic smile. “Well Sam, it’s great. Thank you for this. This is exactly what I needed to take my mind off everything.”  
“No. Dean. You’re right, this IS wrong.”


	2. Demons Run

The inhuman screams echoed off the walls of the cabin, a shrill soundtrack to which the occupents of the cabin lived their lives everyday. A pair of deep blue grey eyes scanned the darkness of the cabin nervously; looking anywhere they could besides the slumped figure tied to the chair; focusing on anything besides the gutteral sounds forcing their way between its lips; thinking of anything besides the twisted laughter that followed each scream.

John braced himself and bit his tongue as the familiar sound of metal slicing through skin fell on his ears. He wasn’t a fan of torture and honestly lacked the stomach for it, but in this case it was a necassary evil.

Sherlock’s cold calculating eyes bore into the demon. Tied down and trapped and bleeding and it still laughed at them with every slice, still smiled and asked smugly for another.

“I’m going to ask you again, and I will speak slowly so your inchoate mind can keep up, where are the girls?” Sherlock stared down his nose at the demon and let all the emotion drain from his face leaving only a picture perfect canvas of alabaster skin and potential.

The demon laughed again deep in its throat. The sound bubbled and wheezed its way out, the sound of internal bleeding solidified into something almost touchable. “Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock.” The demon clicked its tongue and smirked up at its captives.

“I’ve heard of you, and your little friend over there.” The demon’s mirthless eyes shifted over to John who was pressed up against the nearest bookcase taking in deep deliberate breaths.

“No matter what you do and no matter what I say there is only one ending to this story. We both know that” The demon rolled its head from one side to the other in an oddly serpentine movement.

Sherlock only curled one lip and turned around to face the table set up behind him. Scattered over the surface were various knives; some coated with blood and other thicker substances, some clean and pristine and shiny. Jugs of holy water sloshed with the vibrations of Sherlock moving along the rickety cabin’s floor. The table should have been a plane of fear and destruction for the demon but he seemed only amused with their attempts.

Sherlock’s hands hovered over a particularly vicious looking blade as he stood pondering his options. John could almost see the gears turning in his friend’s mind as each possibility fell into place. He watched as Sherlock mapped the demon in his brain, noted each weak spot, calculated the pressure needed for the greatest pain with least effort. John watched as Sherlock’s humanity started to slide away and the cold being that made him the great, albeit ruthless, hunter that he was surfaced its head.

“Oh they are clever little things aren’t they?”

John and Sherlock both turned their heads to face the doorway in which the voice had drifted through. John rolled his eyes but started making his way into the front room. Their current company did not enjoy being left to his deductions alone.

John stood in the doorway for a moment as he watched a familiar mop of brown hair bob back and forth while its owner stuck pins into a map on the wall.

“What have you got Doctor?” John asked crossing his arms and planting himself behind the taller man.

No one really knew why he was called The Doctor. No one really knew much of anything about him at all other than he was eccentric to a fault and was the best “consulting” detective on the planet. He was the best partially because he was the only one. He was tall, dressed like a car crash, and nothing but flailing limbs he only seemed to have quasi control over. John liked him.

As if on cue he spun around to face John still planted in the same spot on the floor, his arms spread wide with one colliding with a nearby lamp resting on a table and sending it toppling over onto the carpet completely unnoticed.

“Oh hello John! Come to see me be clever?” The Doctor said with a wide smile painted on his face. John returned his smiling face with one that said ‘don’t even waste your time’.

John liked The Doctor for many reason, but the most important being that he was a large bumbling man-child not to unlike another bumbling man-child in his life. Outside observers always said The Doctor and Sherlock were nothing alike but those people had never seen them in an argument.

John saw through The Doctor’s act though. He knew he hid his pain behind smiles and laughter and goofy neckware. He knew The Doctor was hurting and hurting in a way that not even his eyes could betray. Those brilliant eyes that spoke of wisdom, those eyes that spoke of war and death and pain; those eyes were pinched in the corners and weary looking.

The Doctor dimmed his smile slightly and waved one hand absentmindedly towards the cork board behind him. “There is a pattern John. Took me a while to notice it - well I can’t really say I noticed it, it was really all Rory’s doing…” He trailed off for a moment before clearing his throat and leaping directly back into his monologue.

“Look!” He twirled back around and grabbed a ball of twine from off the nearby table and began looping it around the pins cluttering the board.

John watched his progress with narrowed eyes attempting to tune out the noises still pouring in from the kitchen. The howls from the demon were turning gravely and deep rising and falling in pitch in a cascade of shrill screams and grunts, like a morbid symphony. John had seen death, had seen war and the worst humanity had to offer;but there was a certain level of depravity in torture that never failed to shake him and leave him feeling hollow.

John’s head tilted to the side as he processed what he was seeing: the string was forming letters and numbers. The Doctor finished his work with a flourish and leaned back with a cocky grin looking quite pleased with himself.

John quickly pulled out a pad a paper and pencil and jotted down the letters and numbers. Looking back over the page he felt nothing but a growing sense of frustration. “Ok great, brilliant. What does it mean?”

The Doctor gave him a look that clearly said he thought John was an adorable simpleton, another striking similarity to Sherlock, and said “the’re coordinates”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has not been beta'd, I'm working on getting edits complete. So please bare with me if you find any errors.


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